


Rilassato

by frostandcrow



Series: Espansivo [3]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (spoiler: it involves a “case”), F/F, Gen, Juno is historically terrible at vacationing, Juno needs a vacation, M/M, and Peter’s unrepentant innuendo-ing, and double dates, and not a hint of angst to be seen, and off-screen sexy-times, and ridiculous drinks, and saunas, and there are pools, the crew figure out a work-around to this problem, with an extra helping of banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 02:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18459731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostandcrow/pseuds/frostandcrow
Summary: After their trouble on Phosphic Five, the crew could really use a vacation. It’s too bad that Juno is constitutionally incapable of vacationing.





	Rilassato

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's the third part of this series that I didn't think was ever going to happen. Enjoy!
> 
> (See End Notes for trigger warnings.)

Peter, an early-riser by nature, was surprised to see most of the crew present at the table when he arrived for breakfast. He was even more surprised to see that Buddy and Rita appeared to be having a conversation that was disproportionately intense for that time of morning. 

 

Helping himself to a cup of coffee, he took a seat at the table just as Buddy was saying, “So…you’re saying that he _shouldn’t_ take a vacation?”

 

“Absolutely not!” exclaimed Rita. “The last time I tried to force Mista’ Steel into takin’ some time off, he solved the case of the assassination of Rupert Goldbly!”

 

Her point was met by blank stares. 

 

“Rubert Goldbly? None of ya have heard of ‘im? The Mayor of Hyperion City about a hundred ’n fifty years ago?”

 

Buddy looked around to Vespa, Jet, and Peter and was met with blank looks. “Sorry, darling, but I’m afraid our knowledge of Hyperion history isn’t quite up to par. And, more relevantly, I’m not sure I follow your logic.”

 

“What I’m tryin’ to say is that Mista’ Steel does _not_ do good with off time. He doesn’t get up to the trouble he used to, but, in my experience it’s more dangerous to let him have time off than it is to put him on a case.”

 

Peter cut in, “I’m afraid I’m missing your point, Rita. _How_ was solving a hundred and fifty year old murder mystery dangerous?”

 

“Well, I’m pretty sure he didn’t sleep for three days while solvin’ it.”

 

“Pardon me for saying, but, while that certainly doesn’t sound restful, I’m not sure it qualifies as ‘dangerous.’”

 

“No, maybe not, but the bleedin’ stress ulcer he got really worried his doctor.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“And the concussion did, too. Mayor Goldbly’s great-great-great granddaughter reeeeally didn’t like Mista’ Steel finding out that her great-great grandfather killed his own dad. Somethin’ about smearin’ the family’s good name.”

 

“….ah. I think I see your point now.”

 

Rita sighed. “Finally.”

 

Vespa sighed in frustration. “So this is why we can’t have nice things?”

 

“We _could_ find a job,” Peter suggested, the idea of a vacation suddenly very appealing. “An easy one with minimal danger and plenty of time for relaxing, perhaps?”

 

“Aleph, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about working with Juno and Rita—no offense, darling— it’s that the more simple a job is guaranteed to be, the more likely we’ll end up in trouble.”

 

“Nah, none taken!” Rita chirped, “We’re never bored! Isn’t that great?”

 

Jet, who had been observing the exchange silently from where he was leaning against the wall, spoke up. “Buddy has a point. I have made the same observation. If Juno cannot solve an assassination mystery that is so old that everyone directly involved is dead without running into trouble then I doubt any job we could find would be definitively safe.”

 

“I guess that settles it, then,” said Peter, resignedly. The idea of taking a vacation hadn’t occurred to him before he’d entered the conversation, but now that it seemed unlikely, he mourned the lost opportunity. After the month they’d all had, they could use a break.

 

Vespa suddenly perked up, “Wait. I think I have an idea. What if we take a job _that doesn’t exist_?”

 

There was a moment of confused silence before Jet replied. “I am not sure I follow.”

 

“If Steel can’t be trusted with free time without trying to find his own case to work and if a supposedly simple job will likely blow up on us, then what if we come up with a job that literally _doesn’t exist_?”

 

She looked around at the room full of skeptical expressions.

 

“Look, it’s not that complicated. What if we, say, plan to lift an expensive piece of art that we know won’t actually be at the museum or…oh! Try to sell something to a buyer who we know will never show up, like that Rasbach deal but without Rasbach? It’ll be a guaranteed safe, easy job and—since _we_ know the job won’t actually happen—we can all relax!”

 

“You know,” said Rita thoughtfully, after a moment, “I think that might actually work…and, no offense, Ms Vespa, but we’ll probably need to come up with a better flop of a plan if we’re gonna convince Mista’ Steel that it’s actually a case.”

 

Buddy looked thoughtful and added, “And, for it to be a successful vacation, we’ll need to make sure he actually relaxes while not giving away the game. I suspect _that_ part will be much harder.”

 

“Well,” Peter said, looking at his watch, “I anticipate he’ll be up in a couple of minutes, so we don’t have long to iron out the details.”

 

————————————————————————————

 

Peter let out a low whistle of appreciation as he and Juno walked into their hotel room. It was opulent in a drastically understated way. “I must say, this is one of the nicest hotel rooms that I’ve had the pleasure of staying in. And, given the extent of my travels, I have quite the basis for comparison.”

 

“It’s a room with a bed and a bathroom, Nureyev,” said Juno, letting his bag drop to the floor, “Everything else is just frosting on an already disgustingly sweet cake.”

 

“Juno, dear, you need to learn to _live_ a little,” said Peter, exaggerating his exasperation. He walked over to the large floor-to-ceiling windows, “My, the _view_ is simply breathtaking.”

 

Juno walked over and stood next to Peter, following his gaze. “Sun. Volcanos. Sand. Yes, I see the appeal.”

 

Peter gave him a sidelong glance, “You don’t have a single romantic bone in your body, do you?”

 

“If I did, there’s a good chance it’s been broken at one point, just like the rest of them.”

 

“Aha!” Peter crowed. “That was nearly poetic!”

 

Peter caught Juno’s brief smile before he had the chance to smother it. “Yeah, you should see me at open mic nights. Now, are we going to go down for dinner or were you gonna stand around and admire the walls next?”

 

“Well, there _is_ some interesting art on these walls…”

 

Juno rolled his eye. “Fine, while you oogle the walls, I’ll be downstairs. Y’know. Doing what we came here to do.”

 

“You mean find Opus McNeil and determine where, exactly, his top secret munitions factory is?”

 

Juno just looked at Peter for a moment before replying, as if to a child, “Yes. Because that’s what we’re here to do.”

 

“In that case, you’re certainly free to go downstairs to see if you can find him. However, the message that I just received from Buddy informed me that he’s not due to arrive on-world until tomorrow morning. We have the night to ourselves.”

 

Juno eyed Peter suspiciously. “Wait, so we’re here a day early?”

 

“All the better to help us appear more inconspicuous, I’d say.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“So, Detective, seeing as we are free from any obligations currently, I’d be more than happy to accompany you downstairs for dinner. _Or,_ ” and he paused, looking at Juno suggestively, “we could stay in and order room service.”

 

“Y’know, you’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

 

“Oh?” Peter asked, tone teasing, “And what is it I’m trying to be subtle about?”

 

“It’s obvious. You wanna stay here and look at the walls some more,” Juno replied seriously, though the effect was ruined somewhat by his inability to keep his mouth from quirking upwards in amusement.

 

Peter grinned in return. “My, how uncanny! You are quite the detective.” Peter reached over and caught the lapels of Juno’s coat, gently drawing him in to kiss him chastely. “Though, I don’t believe you have yet deduced what I plan on adding to the wall to make them even more captivating.”

 

“Wait, wha—“ Juno was interrupted by another kiss from Peter—this one with significantly more passion—using the distraction to slowly coax Juno a couple of steps backwards until Peter had him pinned to the wall.

 

They broke apart and Juno drew breath to make what was no doubt going to be a critique of Peter’s admittedly puerile joke. Peter, having anticipated this, did something with his hand that kept that breath from forming coherent words and then spent quite a bit of time after that keeping him from regaining his coherency.

 

————————————————————————————

 

Peter awoke slowly, reveling in the heat of the body next to him. Given that a day on Venus lasted almost six thousand hours, he couldn’t judge how long he’d been asleep from the light streaming into the room but, given how well-rested he felt, he assumed it had been a good amount of time.

 

He looked over at Juno, limned in sunlight and curled onto his side facing Peter, arms wrapped around a pillow, his forehead pressed into Peter’s bicep. His breaths were quiet and deep, his face completely relaxed.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, letting his mind wander, gaze resting lazily on the man sleeping next to him. There was no reason to wake Juno and he would have been loathe to do so even if there was. 

 

They’d had plenty of rest and food in the two days back aboard the ship after their month on Phosphic Five, which had gone a long way towards helping both Juno and him recover. However, Juno still suffered from severe exhaustion and chills, the latter of which was exacerbated by the perpetually cool ambient temperature of their ship. Juno had shared with Peter that Vespa’s diagnosis for his constant cold intolerance and fatigue was a combination of Scrag-related anemia, malnutrition-related weight-loss, and his natural acclimatization to Mars’ warmer climes.

 

Peter had just started to doze off again when Juno gave a soft sigh and shifted slightly. “Wh’ time ’s it?”

 

“And good morning to you as well,” Peter said, voice a low rumble. 

 

“Too soon to tell,” Juno grumbled, eye closing again.

 

Peter was going to let him doze back off, but Juno gave another sigh and sat up, rubbing his face. “What are you doing?” Peter asked.

 

“What does it look like? We need to get going, it’s…” he paused and reached over the edge of the bed to dig through what Peter assumed were his coat pockets for his comms, “…almost noon. Shit. How did we sleep so long? Why didn’t we set an alarm.” He slid from the bed and started to pull on his trousers. Another thought seemed to hit him, “Why didn’t anyone come drag our asses out of bed?”

 

Peter sat up slightly. “Juno, darling, what’s the rush?”

 

“It’s almost noon! Are they even still serving breakfast?”

 

“In a hotel like this, I’m sure they’ll serve whatever you like whenever you like.”

 

“It’s not for me, Nureyev. We were supposed to be downstairs to see if we could spot McNeil at breakfast!”

 

“Yes, but I suspect the rest of the crew are already there. I’m sure we’d be surplus to requirements.”

 

Juno fixed him with a flat stare. “I’m new to this _team_ thing, Nureyev, but even I know that’s probably not how it’s supposed to work.”

 

Peter sighed, recognizing a lost battle when he was in one, and got out of bed as well. 

 

——————————————————————————————————

 

The sun was warm and its rays, thanks to the specialized dome above them, were of limited UVA content. Regardless of this and the sunscreen that Peter had helped him apply, Juno sat under a large umbrella, combing through the the dossier on Opus McNeil that Buddy had sent them at breakfast. He occasionally scanned the crowd of people around them and in the pool, gaze inscrutable thanks to his sunglasses. Despite lounging in a pool chair, Peter saw the tension in his shoulders. He was hardly relaxing.

 

“This says that this McNeil guy is pretty reclusive,” recited Juno, tapping at his screen. “Why are we staking out a pool, again?”

 

“Even recluses have been known to relax, Juno.” Peter peered over the top of his sunglasses pointedly at him. “You could stand to learn from them.”

 

“Living alone in the middle of nowhere? Sounds appealing. Too bad trouble usually finds me no matter where I hide.”

 

“I have no trouble believing that. But, remember, we suspect that he’s using an alias, so he might feel emboldened in regards to venturing outside his usual comfort zone.”

 

Juno glanced over at Peter, the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips. “Does that work for you?”

 

Peter pretended to consider, “I suppose it does. I don’t believe that I have ever acted as forward as I did when I was Rex Glass. But, keep in mind, Rex did have a very attractive distraction.”

 

“Really?” Juno asked with almost palpable facetiousness, “I didn’t think Rex was into one-armed producer-slash-psychopaths, but I guess there’s no accounting for taste.”

 

“Funny, you just proved my assumption that Rex needed to be remarkably over-the-top in regards to his advances because it’s clear that the subject of his infatuation would have been quite oblivious otherwise.”

 

“Ha, as if _you_ could have actually been subtle,” Juno said, attention already returning to the dossier on his comms. 

 

Peter sighed. It was harder to keep Juno distracted than he had anticipated. He tried another approach. “Juno, I’ll keep watch for a while. Why don’t you go for a swim?” 

 

“There’s no good vantage point in the pool, Aleph. And it would take way too long to get out of the pool in a hurry if I _do_ spot the guy.”

 

“Well then, can I at least get you a drink?” he asked, defeated.

 

“Yeah, sure,” came Juno’s absent reply, “Does that woman look familiar?”

 

Peter tried to follow Juno’s gaze. “Not to me.” He stood and asked, “What would you like?”

 

“Huh? Oh. Surprise me.”

 

Peter went to the bar. As he waited for his order, someone sidled into his peripheral vision.

 

“How’s Operation Get-the-Boss-to-Relax goin’?" Rita whispered to him, staring straight ahead.

 

Peter exhaled heavily. “About as well as you’d expect.” He considered, and then amended, “Or rather, not nearly as well as I foolishly expected.”

 

Rita placed a commiserating hand on his arm, apparently forgetting about her earlier attempt at being clandestine. “Yeah, that’s the boss for ya. It takes lots ‘a practice and some luck to get him to relax.”

 

“Oh? I wouldn’t mind a demonstration.”

 

“I really shouldn’t, Mista’ Aleph. We’re supposed ta be _undercover._ ” Peter found it endearing the way she said “undercover” as if it were a novelty.

 

“Yes, of course, Rita,” he said, fondly, “But I have absolute faith in your covert skills. And I think you’re currently the best strategy we have in this ‘Operation Get-the-Boss-to-Relax.’”

 

She pondered for a second, and then said, “I guess ya got a point there.”

 

“Your drinks, sir,” said the bartender, placing two brightly colored frozen drinks in front of Peter.

 

Rita’s eyes lit up. “Oh, he’s gonna love that!”

 

—————————————————————————

 

“What the _hell_ is this?” Juno asked as Peter handed him one of the brightly colored frozen drinks.

 

“I haven’t the foggiest. You said that you wanted me to surprise you.”

 

“Yeah, with a _drink._ Not something that looks like fairy vomit.”

 

Peter placidly sipped from the straw in his own brightly colored frozen drink. “Well, rest assured, it certainly doesn’t taste like fairy vomit. Or vomit from any other mythological species.”

 

Rita took a seat on Juno’s other side, sipping at her own drink. “It’s okay, Mista’ Aleph,” she loudly whispered over Juno, “not many people know this, but Mista’ Steel here ’s got a real big sweet tooth. Only, he don’t like to show it.”

 

“Says who?” Juno asked, taking a sip. “And where did you come from?”

 

“Says my missin’ bag of Sacchartines. I don’t need ta be a detective to figure out where they went.”

 

“You’ve got no proof.”

 

“Yet.”

 

“Well, well, this is a new development! I wouldn’t have thought our Juno here had a predilection for sweets.”

 

“Yeah. I think he thinks it makes him not cool or somethin’.”

 

“Hey, I’m _right here._ ”

 

“That does explain it,” Peter said to Rita, nodding solemnly. Juno groaned in frustration. “You know, he doesn’t seem to be a fan of swimming either. Is he therefore secretly an avid swimmer?”

 

“I already told you why swimming was a dumb idea, Aleph.”

 

Rita, ignoring Juno, said matter-of-factly, “Nah, that’s ‘cause he’s scared of water.”

 

“I’m what?”

 

“Scared of water,” Rita said, innocently.

 

“…what?” repeated Juno, looking genuinely confused.

 

“Yeah, remember that case at the aquarium?”

 

“…you’re gonna have to be more specific, Rita.”

 

“The one where you joined a gang.”

 

Juno’s expression went from confused to peeved, “You mean that time I went _undercover_ in the _mafia_?”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I said, ain’t it?”

 

“No, you—y’know what, never mind. Please, continue.”

 

“As I was sayin’,” Rita said, pitching her voice so that it was clear that she was addressing Peter, “Mista’ Steel here ’s got a pretty bad fear of water. I actually saw it all happen, you see, since he needed me to be at the aquarium that time for moral support—“

 

“— _Tech_ support—“

 

“—‘cause he had all this fancy equipment hidden in his clothes in order to record the bad guy sayin’ somethin’ that would land him in prison. But then, the guy found out about the recordin’ device, grabbed it offa Mista’ Steel, and threw it into this tank of water as he ran away. Mista’ Steel was gonna jump in and grab it, but he ended up just standin’ there, completely frozen!”

 

Peter, riveted by the tale, looked over at Juno. 

 

Juno had his face buried in his hands.

“Juno,” Peter said, unable to keep the levity from his tone, “you never told me you were scared of water.”

 

“I’m. Not,” he said with forced calm. “Rita, that was a _shark_ tank.”

 

“Exactly, and you were scared to go into the water.”

 

“Yeah, but not because of the _water,_ Rita, but because there were goddamn _sharks_ in the water!”

 

“I don’t think I see the distinction, Mista’ Steel.” Juno buried his face back in his hands so he missed the wink that Rita directed at Peter. Despite his outward exasperation, Peter noticed that the tension in Juno’s shoulders from earlier had dissipated. 

 

“What else is our dear detective afraid of?”

 

“Why?” Juno asked Peter plaintively, looking betrayed.

 

Rita thought for a second. “Flower shops.”

 

“That’s not a phobia, Rita, that’s because of my allergies. To _flowers._ ”

 

“And…microwaves!”

 

“That’s just the _one_ microwave in our old office,” Juno sputtered, “and it’s justified because _you_ programmed it to make my food explode at random times.”

 

“No, I rewired it so that it’d increase the frequency of the microwave radiation to the _exact_ wavelength needed to make the world’s best popcorn with an algorithm that would anticipate when I’d have a popcorn cravin’! It’s not my fault you can’t be bothered to learn that timing pattern.”

 

“Rita, the equation you gave me for that pattern had symbols from at least four different languages. I just wanted to be able to heat my lunch up without needing a calculator and without fear of eating dish shrapnel.”

 

“Aw, boss, that’s the best part, though! Oh! And speakin’ of food, Mista’ Steel’s got a fear of fruits and veggies.”

 

Juno snorted. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat somethin’ that didn’t come from a package without at least five minutes of naggin’ beforehand.”

 

“He seems to enjoy oatmeal,” Peter chimed in.

 

“Oh? Really?” Rita asked, genuine surprise in her voice. “Without the naggin’?”

 

Before Peter could reply, Juno said, “I wasn’t in a position to be picky, Aleph.”

 

“Oh!” exclaimed Rita, “And he’s scare of cats with bombs in their _widdle tummies_.”

 

“…I’m sorry? Did you say…?“

 

It was hard to tell with the sunglasses, but Peter was certain Juno was rolling his eye. “Bombs planted in cats, yeah, she did.”

 

“Is that…something you encounter frequently?”

 

“Only the once.”

 

“Well, I recall you certainly got rid of it in a hurry,” said Rita, primly. “Now I can see why you ain’t got pets if that’s how you treat animals.”

 

“Only animals that are literally seconds away from _exploding._ ”

 

Rita continued. “Oh! And he’s scared of heights!”

 

There was silence for a moment. Then, Juno shrugged and said, “Yeah, that one’s fair.”

 

“Wait, wait. I’m afraid I’m going to need _much_ more context.”

 

Rita and Juno turned to look at him. “I…don’t like heights,” said Juno, slowly, as if explaining to a child. “That’s about all there is to it.”

 

“No, the one before that. The one about the…cat, was it?”

 

“Oh. Huh. Yeah, it’s…a long story.”

 

Peter nonchalantly looked around him. “Well, Juno, my dear, we have nowhere we need to be for the foreseeable future.”

 

“Exactly!” chirped Rita. “So, Mista’ Aleph, you’re gonna love this story. It’s got all the things a good story’s gotta have!” She lowered her voice and continued, dramatically, “Suspense, intrigue, mystery, foot chases, fish women, explosions, and a damsel who saves the day by throwin’ a cat outta the window!”

 

Peter listened as Rita recounted the tale of a client and her supplanted cat. Juno would have given every impression that he wasn’t paying attention if he hadn’t interjected with regularity to provide a correction or elaboration to the story. 

 

Not once did he pick up his comms or seem to pay much attention to the crowd around them. 

 

———————————————————————————

 

“You really think we’re gonna track this guy down in a _sauna_?” Juno grumbled as he and Peter checked in at the front desk of one of Venus’ galaxy-famous spas. 

 

“You must admit, a sauna _is_ a more likely place for —what did you call him?—a recluse to relax than a swimming pool.” He gave the man behind the desk the pseudonyms that their reservations were under. 

 

“Yeah, I’m glad we started with the least likely possibility,” Juno replied sarcastically, following Peter down the well-lit corridor. 

 

“Well, you must admit, even if we strike out again, at least we’ll get the chance to do so while relaxing at a spa.”

 

Juno looked at him, eye narrowed. “Funny. It’s as if you don’t really care—whoa!” Juno leapt out of the path of a harried-looking woman clad only in a towel who barreled around the corner from the hallway perpendicular to them, speaking rapidly into her phone. Not even bothering to apologize, she continued to walk quickly towards the changing rooms. “The hell?” he asked, turning to glare at her retreating back.

 

“Tourists,” Peter lamented, ironically. He looked down the hallway she had come from longingly and asked, “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go for a massage?”

 

He had hoped that near-miss with the woman and the change in topic would have caused Juno to forget his accusation that Peter didn’t seem to be invested in their secretly fake case. However, Juno’s eye only narrowed further. “It’s unlikely enough that we’re gonna run into this guy in a sauna. You really think we’ll find him while being alone in a room with a masseuse?”

 

“Point taken,” Peter sighed. He started to walk towards the changing rooms. Juno followed.

 

As they were undressing in a quiet corner of the room, Juno said to him, softly, “Sorry, Nureyev. It’s just…usually when people touch me, it’s to try and punch my lights out. I’m…not a big fan of a stranger laying hands on me.”

 

Peter froze, not having considered this. “I’m sorry, Juno. That was horribly inconsiderate of me.”

 

Juno blushed and looked down, pretending to fiddle with the towel wrapped around his waist. “Why would you have assumed that? It’s a stupid neurosis.”

 

“A distressing one maybe, but it’s certainly not stupid,” Peter said gently. “And I, for one, am looking forward to a hot room with good company and no fistcuffs.”

 

Juno let out a soft huff of amusement. “Y’know, that’s a sentiment I can get behind,” he said, smiling at Peter. 

 

—————————————————————

 

As Juno had predicted—and Peter had known—Opus McNeil was nowhere to be seen in the sauna. In fact, there was only one person in the sauna when he and Juno entered it. 

 

“The hell?”

 

“Juno, Aleph. Hello.”

 

“It’s good to see you, Jet.”

 

“I repeat: ‘the _hell._ ’” Juno was staring at Jet, eye comically widened in surprise.

 

“You are surprised to see me here?”

 

“Well, sure, I guess, but that whole issue is _completely_ obscured by the fact that your _trench_ _coat_ actually comes _off_?”

 

“Please, Juno. Do not be ridiculous. Of course it does.”

 

“I mean, sure, I knew it was possible, scientifically-speaking, but…”

 

“This is supposed to be a relaxing environment, Juno. I recommend that you take a seat and try to decompress.”

 

“‘Decompress?’ Do _you_ even know what that means?” Juno quipped, taking a seat on the bench next to Jet. Peter sat on Juno’s other side.

 

“It means ‘to release pressure.’”

  
“Yeah, I got it, Big Guy. I’m just surprised that you actually _can_ relax. You’re always so…stiff and formal.”

 

“I am actually very adept at relaxing. However, given how you are nearly always markedly wound up, you can forgive me for not trusting that you are actually familiar with the concept yourself.”

 

“Hey, I’ll have you know that I’m perfectly capable of relaxing.”

 

“Oh?” asked Peter, faux-sincerely, “This is news to me as well.”

 

Juno looked at Peter with a wounded expression. “Look, it’s not my fault that things seem to go sideways when I’m working with either of you.”

 

“I don’t know,” Peter teased, “You seem to be the one thing that those past jobs have in common.”

 

“A keen observation,” Jet agreed, nodding sagely.

 

“Okay, team-up-against-Juno time is over. I’m trying to get my relax on, here.” So saying, he settled back against the wall, stretched his legs out, and pointedly closed his eye. 

 

“A very good idea,” said Jet, folding his arms and tilting his head back against the wall in the same position he’d been in when Juno and Peter had entered the sauna. 

 

Peter relaxed against the wall himself, feeling the heat of the room seep into his muscles. He let his mind drift, pleasantly. When Juno’s breathing evened out into the unmistakable breathing of sleep, neither he nor Jet made any comment.

 

———————————————————————————

 

“I think I have an allergy to places like this,” said Juno flatly as their taxi pulled up to an opulent restaurant. He watched the well-dressed patrons go in and out of its doors morosely as Peter paid their driver. 

“That’s a shame. I hear they have the best _charcuterie_ in the solar system.” He tucked his arm into Juno’s and led them towards the doors. 

 

“See? I think that’s part of the problem. I have _no_ idea what you just said.”

 

“Oh Juno, I am so glad that I get the chance to show you the finer things in life.”

 

Juno snorted. “Jet and Rita are staying in and having a stream party.” He tugged at his neckline uncomfortably. “I bet they’re wearing pajamas and eating pizza right now,” he grumbled.

 

“Yes, how very unadventurous.” Peter agreed, absently. He spoke briefly to the host then then continued, “Though, if I recall, Jet can be remarkably emotional when watching certain programs, so ‘unadventurous’ might be a bit of an understatement.”

 

Juno’s eye widened in sudden realization. “Oh god, so is Rita.”

 

Peter laughed lightly. “Well, in that case, you’re very welcome that I’m sparing you that sort of _adventure_ for the evening. I’m sure Buddy and Vespa will be less emotionally volatile company. Now, dear, would you like a table near the windows or one near the fire-dancers? Juno?”

 

Juno appeared to be staring into the dining area. 

 

“Juno, hello?”

 

He snapped his attention back to Peter. “What?”

 

“I was asking where you’d like to sit.”

 

“Oh. Wherever.” He went back to staring into the large room.

 

“Juno, what are you loo—Oh! Buddy! Vespa! Hello, my dears!” He kissed each of them on the cheek.

 

“Hello, Aleph, darling. Is our table ready?”

 

“It should be…” Peter looked to the host who had gathered a stack of menus and gestured for them to follow. “Ah, it appears so. After you.”

 

_——————————————————————_

 

“Juno, darling, that color looks marvelous on you,” Buddy commented, halfway through their dinner.

 

Peter grinned. “See?” he asked, pointedly.

 

“I never said it didn’t,” Juno huffed, stabbing a piece of broccoli with more force than was probably necessary. “I said that it seems ridiculous to wear something like this just to eat in.”

 

Peter smirked at him. “Well, if I’d had it my way—“ 

 

“Oh my god, please don’t finish that sentence.”

 

“Seconded,” added Vespa. 

 

“Actually, darling, I was talking about the color of your face. You look better than you did yesterday, and _much_ more healthy compared to coming back from Phosphic Five.” 

 

Juno blushed and mumbled something as he stuffed a piece of his roll into his mouth. Peter came to the conclusion that her comment had been calculated to provide both positive reinforcement—which Juno still desperately needed, his own self-improvement efforts notwithstanding—and playful teasing. If this conclusion was correct, she had hit her target dead-on.

 

Buddy, apparently deciding to spare Juno from further discomfort, changed the topic. “You know, Aleph, Vespa and I visited an intriguing museum this afternoon. We think you and Juno might enjoy it as well.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Juno made an amused noise. “I didn’t think professional thieves visited museums just to look,” he joked.

 

There was an awkward silence as the other three people at the table very pointedly looked anywhere but each other, expressions remaining carefully neutral. 

 

“Wait…” Juno said, realization dawning.

 

“Which museum was it?” Peter asked quickly, derailing Juno.

 

“Art, naturally,” said Buddy. “They have an exhibit on Venusian Neo-Romanticism on at the moment. Some of the pieces are quite breathtaking.”

 

“Yeah. And they had some nicely cut jewels on display as well,” added Vespa, innocently.

 

“That does sound intriguing.” Peter said, ignoring the ambiguity of the word “had” in Vespa’s sentence.

 

“Yeah, nope,” said Juno. “I think I’ve been turned off of art museums for a while.”

 

Vespa grinned at Juno. “I don’t think their security was armed with tasers, so you probably don’t have to worry about this museum being as… _stunning_ …as that last one.”

 

“Ha. Funny. And I’ll have you know that if I avoided places that I associated with getting tasered, the only place I’d be able to go is the DMV.”

 

“Nice try, Juno,” said Peter, calling out Juno’s hyperbole, “but I saw for myself that your car tags were _years_ out of date. You can’t expect me to believe that you have _ever_ been to an auto licensing office.”

 

Juno smirked, “My point exactly.”

 

“Wait,” said Vespa, holding up a hand, “In that case, _why_ are art museums an issue, then?”

 

“You weren’t there, Vespa, so you didn’t have to see just how god-awful some of the stuff on the walls of that museum was.” Juno shuddered exaggeratedly. “I’m not gonna risk exposing myself to such agonizingly bad taste again any time in the near future.”

 

Peter patted Juno’s hand indulgently, “You poor, traumatized detective.”

 

“So,” Juno said, lowering his voice and leaning forward slightly, “Were you guys able to track down our…friend?”

 

“Please, darling, no shop talk at dinner.”

 

Juno sputtered. “What? Why not? What are we doing here, then?”

 

“Eating dinner,” replied Vespa, calmly taking a sip of her wine. 

 

“So we’re supposed to what, just sit here and eat and talk about nothing?”

 

“You forgot ‘and relax.’” added Vespa, helpfully.

 

“Ah yes, you’ll have to pardon Juno. That’s unfortunately still a foreign concept for him.” Peter gave Juno’s hand one more pat before picking up his fork to resume eating his meal. 

 

“Well, the night is still relatively young. Do you two have any plans for the evening?”

 

Before Peter could reply, Juno quickly said, warningly, “Aleph…”

 

Peter shot him his most practiced look of complete innocence. “Juno, dear, I was merely going to tell them that, after dinner, I had planned to take you to The Flows.”

 

Vespa and Buddy cooed appreciatively.

 

“Oh,” said Juno, relaxing.

 

“In fact, I had no intention of mentioning what I had planned for us _after_ we had returned to our hotel room.”

 

“…There it is,” sighed Juno, shaking his head resignedly.

 

“The Flows, huh?” asked Vespa. She looked over at Buddy, “We went there last night. I hadn’t ever been before, but I’d heard about them. It was even more spectacular seeing it in person.”

 

“What are the Flows?” asked Juno.

 

Vespa’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh, you don’t know?” 

 

“Nope.”

 

“Well, in that case,” cut in Peter, “we will leave it a surprise.”

 

———————————————————————————————

 

The Flows were one of Venus’ many natural phenomena, though the technology needed to directly observe the reaction catalyzed by the heat of one of its lava floes had only been in existence for the past ten years. Thanks to that technology—a type of clear plastic polymer that could withstand the markedly high temperature—viewers could descend into a subterranean clear plastic hemisphere and be completely surrounded by nacreous golden magma. 

 

The feature that made The Flows one of the most dazzling sites in the galaxy was the chemical reaction unique to Venus that caused jets of brightly-colored steam in a rainbow-variety of colors to shoot through the magma towards the surface, creating a continuous firework-esque spectacle. 

 

Juno had been stunned into silence since descending into the observation dome. He stared at the multicolored streams rocketing through the iridescent magma, mouth open in wonder. 

 

Peter watched Juno, his face illuminated by the glow. 

 

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard of The Flows,” said Peter, eventually.

 

Juno shrugged, still enraptured by the sights around him. “I probably have but I guess I didn’t bother retaining that information. I guess I figured it’d never be relevant.”

 

“Oh, Juno,” Peter said, taking Juno’s hand. “This universe has so many more wondrous sights to explore and I can’t wait to make them all relevant to you.”

 

Juno tore his gaze from the colors and turned to look at Peter. “God, you’re _such_ a sap,” he said fondly, unable to conceal his own sappy grin.

 

——————————————————————————————

 

They had only planned on spending two nights on Venus, so as to miss the “random” ship Port Authority inspections where they had docked. Therefore, the third night found them sitting around their ship’s dinner table, their course laid in and the ship running on autopilot, when Juno dug something out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table.

 

“So, what’s our next step?” he asked.

 

Everyone stared at him.

 

“Juno, darling, what is that?”

 

Juno looked at Buddy in suspicious confusion. “A comms device.”

 

“Yes, I can see that. What I can’t see, at the moment, is the significance of it.”

 

Juno looked around at each of the crew in turn, incredulous. “It’s…the thing we were after. On Venus. The coordinates to McNeil’s top secret development facility. Y’know. Where he’s been developing tech like the Strat Net and selling weapons to intergalactic thugs.” He was met with more silence, though this one of the “stunned” variety. “Can someone tell me just _what_ is going on?”

 

Peter cleared his throat. “Juno…”

 

“Boss, that wasn’t no heist.”

 

“What?”

 

Rita looked around the table as if seeking permission to continue and received only nonplussed looks. “Weeell…I may have told everyone that you don’t do so good with vacation time and, boss, ya really did need some time off, you looked terrible when you came back from that planet and you look so much better now, much more rested and not as skinny, though I think you have some room for improvement in that area still, but anyway you needed to relax and the only way that was happenin’ is if you thought we had a case.“

 

Juno just stared at her.

 

“What Rita is saying,” said Peter carefully, not certain how Juno would respond to the fact that the crew had essentially tricked him into a vacation and cursing himself for not considering this beforehand, “is that we thought some time off after the month we’ve all been through would be beneficial. However, going by past experiences,” and here he nodded at Rita, “we thought that the best way to prevent our vacation from turning into a stressful and dangerous case would be to set up a case that simply couldn’t exist.”

 

“…what?”

 

“Juno,” said Jet, “You cannot have Opus McNeil’s comms device because Opus McNeil was not on Venus during our time there.”

 

“But…he was.” Juno said, firmly. “Check that comms.”

 

“We have it on very good authority that Opus McNeil is currently on Triton.”

 

“Oh, well, in that case, I think I figured out the problem,” said Juno, sarcastically. “You’ve all been misled.”

 

Buddy picked up the comms. “You’re claiming to have found Opus McNeil _and_ managed to steal his comms?” She looked at Peter. “Did you know about this?”

 

Peter shook his head, too stunned to speak, and watched as Buddy inspected the contents of the comms for a moment before saying, “It’s securely locked. I can’t get in.”

 

“Oh, lemme try!” cried Rita. Then, about three seconds later, “Aha! Got it. Whatcha lookin’ for?”

 

“Well…I suppose the coordinates to his factory would be a place to start.”

 

“Let’s see…coordinates, coordinates…here we are! This whatcha lookin’ for?” Rita asked, passing the comms unit back to Buddy. Buddy scrolled through the information, Vespa and Jet looking over her shoulder.

 

“I…can’t believe it,” Buddy breathed, softly. “You…you actually got the comms of one of the biggest weapons designers in the galaxy—“

 

“—who wasn’t even _supposed_ to be on the planet we were on,” finished Peter. He met Juno’s eye. “Juno, that is just… _incredible._ How did you manage it?”

 

Juno’s expression turned smug. “Trade secret.”

 

“Oh, c’mon, boss! You know you wanna brag about how clever you are!”

 

The faintest hint of blush colored Juno’s cheeks. “Fine. You wanna know? It turns out, I _didn’t_ actually run into the guy, he’s much too reclusive to actually leave his hotel room, even in top-tier resorts. So, instead, he has his assistant go out and get him everything he needs for comfort or business or whatever. _She_ was the one who caught my attention.” He looked over at Peter, “Remember the woman who almost ran me over at the spa?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Well, she kept popping up almost everywhere we seemed to go. She was at the pool before that and I saw her at the restaurant that you, me, Buddy, and Vespa went to later that night, picking up food for two to go. She was the only person at the resort who seemed harried, so it’s clear she wasn’t there on vacation. When she bumped into me at the spa, she was talking to someone named ‘Sydney Magnum,’ which I learned from his dossier was one of McNeil’s aliases.” He looked accusingly at Rita and Peter, “I probably would have learned a lot more about him if _some people_ hadn’t distracted me.” 

 

Peter smiled unapologetically, “Clearly you had learned all you needed to.”

 

“But boss, if you never saw ‘im, how’d you get that comms offa this Opus guy?”

 

“I didn’t. I got it off of the assistant as we were leaving the hotel. She bumped into me at the spa, so I returned the courtesy, only this time, in the confusion, I may have relieved her of her comms unit.”

 

“And you were certain that the information we would need would be on her communication device?” asked Jet.

 

“Not certain, but most assistants know more about their boss’s business than the bosses themselves—trust me, I know—so I thought it was a safe bet that her comms would have what we need.”

 

Vespa whistled, lowly. “Well, damn.”

 

The stunned silence that followed was broken, eventually, by Rita.

 

“See. Mista’ Steel just ain’t good at free time.”

 

“Y’know, I was wondering why I seemed to be the only one invested in the case,” Juno mused. “For a second, I was worried that I’d signed on with a bunch of amateurs.”

 

“Given what you accomplished—on your own, I might add—I don’t believe we’d have much of an argument to the contrary,” said Peter diplomatically.

 

“Well, maybe next time everyone wants a vacation—“

 

“—Yeah, yeah, we’ll tie you up and leave you on the ship,” grouched Vespa, good-naturedly. 

 

“Well, that certainly sounds like a vacation to me,” said Peter, causing at least half of the people present to make noises of dismay and one lady in particular to bury his face in his hands. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> TW:  
> —Mentions of canon animal cruelty (specifically, references to pseudo-Pippa, the cat with the bomb in its belly)
> 
> This fic is an experiment looking at what happens when the author writes something during two back-to-back 80+ hour work weeks and proof-reads it while half-asleep. Clearly, I’ve had vacations on the brain…
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think of it!
> 
> As always, I'm findable @frostandcrow on Tumblr!


End file.
